


An Open Road

by thievinghippo



Series: Anura Darzi [1]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-10-05
Packaged: 2018-05-11 00:27:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5606779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thievinghippo/pseuds/thievinghippo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stories, prompt fics and drabbles involving Anura Darzi, a shotgun toting lawyer. MacCready/Sole-Survivor will be the focus, but others will show up occasionally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Kitten Heels and Other Pretty Things

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally _Kitten Heels and Other Pretty Things_ , but I decided to group all my one-shots in one fic instead of several.

They’re making out like teenagers, which granted wasn’t too long ago for MacCready, but no way in hell is he gonna remind the boss that. Instead, he slides his hands from her waist to her ass, hoping that the crumbling wall they’re pressed up against is solid enough to hold their weight.

He nudges his thigh between her legs - this is the first time they’ve shared more than a brief kiss; he wants this to be _good_ \- and Anura moans into his mouth. God _damn,_ he wants to hear that sound again, so he cups her ass, and pulls her even closer, close enough he can feel the heat of her cunt on his leg.

_Fuck._

Her fingers curl around the lapels of his overcoat, tugging the collar against his neck. The pressure isn’t exactly comfortable, but MacCready has no intention on moving. Ever. Anura gently bites his lower lip - that’s not something Lucy would have ever done _and_ _don’t think about Lucy right now, you dumb fuck_.

Then Anura runs her nails down the back of his scalp and all thoughts of Lucy go out the window. Cause all that matters is his cock standing at full attention as he starts to grind lightly against her thigh.

MacCready breaks off the kiss, mainly because he wants to lean his forearms against the wall so he can rest his full weight on her and also because he’s an idiot, because why would he ever want to stop kissing her?

Apparently Anura’s impatient (which doesn’t bother him at all) and pulls him down for another kiss, and the tiny, rational part of his brain thinks this makes no sense. Why’s he looking down to kiss her when she’s taller than him?

MacCready wants to tell the rational part of his brain to shut the fuck up because it doesn’t matter. All that matters is the way her tongue is doing that _thing._ But he looks down and sees that her knees are bent and it doesn’t look comfortable at all. It makes him think back to the other kisses that they’ve shared and he realizes he’s lowered his head for every single one.

It’s a mystery and if there’s anything MacCready hates, it’s a mystery.

“Why do you keep doing that?” he asks, brushing his lips against her neck.

“Doing what?” the boss asks, sounding slightly breathless. Her voice sends a shiver down his spine, making him wonder what it would be like to hear her talking dirty in his ear. That’s something he always wanted Lucy to try, but she was always too embarrassed and _stop thinking of Lucy._

“Make yourself shorter when we kiss?”

Her brow furrows for a split second, barely long enough for MacCready to even notice before she stands up straight. And just like that, the moment’s gone. He knows it, Anura knows it, and worst of all, his cock knows it, too.

He rubs the back of his neck, staring at the faded, torn wallpaper on the walls of the empty house they decided to scavenge, wondering if there’s anything he can say to recapture the moment. The sniper in him knows there’s not; once you miss your shot, it’s almost impossible to find it again.

Anura walks past him, pushing open the front doors with the palms of both hands, and goes outside. His mind starts racing a million miles an hour. What the fuck did he say that set her off?

Does he run after her or leave her alone? The hell if he knows. But MacCready’s not comfortable with the idea of her being upset and outside by herself. And that makes his choice much easier. He’s here to watch her back. No matter what.

She’s sitting on the steps of the front porch, resting her chin on her hands. He puts his sniper rifle within easy reach as he sits down next to her, close but not touching. When she doesn’t say anything, MacCready looks out over the lake as the sun starts to set. They’ll probably have to make camp here for the night. Not a bad spot. Should be safe enough. 

“Nate and I were the same height,” Anura says finally. “He hated it.”

MacCready wants to ask why, but that’s too obvious of a question, so he keeps his stupid mouth shut before he can say anything else to upset her.

Anura runs her hand over the shaved part of her head. It’s a new look, one that MacCready’s not all that fond of, but fuck it, it’s not his hair. It’s a far cry from the prim and proper updo she had when they met. But look at all the shit she’s had to go through since then. Gal barely knew how to hold a gun then.

“Gender roles… were different before the war,” she says with a sigh. “Women almost always wore skirts or dresses and men expected to be taller than their partner.” Anura turns and looks at him, and her brow is furrowed. “It doesn’t bother you at all that you’re shorter than me?”

MacCready leans back, resting his forearms on the stair behind him and shrugs. “Beautiful, you grew up with proper nutrition and didn’t have rads in your food. I grew up in a fu- a freaking cave. Of _course_ you’re taller than me.”

“Before I met Nate, I had the most amazing shoe collection,” Anura says, her voice getting soft and wistful like it does sometimes when she talks about the past. “Kitten heels and stilettos and sling-backs and peep toes... I was always in heels and then I could tell how uncomfortable it made Nate when I wore them, so I switched to flats. Haven’t worn heels since.”

He scoots a little closer to her and puts his arm around her waist. He likes how it feels there, like it fits. “Tell you what, you find a pair of heels, wear them as much as you like.”

She lets out a bark of a laugh and MacCready holds back a smile. Making her laugh quickly’s become one of his favorite things to do, not that he would ever admit it. “Don’t think I could walk very well in heels these days.”

“Save ‘em for a special occasion,” he offers. One thing he’s noticed about his girl is she likes pretty things. He can’t think of any other reason why she insists on picking up so many vases, and then handing them out to the different settlement. Her home in Sanctuary is the same way. She’s got a whole shelf on the wall lined with the damn things.

She hums absently, and MacCready wonders what she’s thinking, if she’s thinking about her husband. And it’s not like he doesn’t get it. He does. A hundred times a day something reminds him of Lucy. It’s little things that kill him the most. Like hearing fingers tapping a syringe or the smell of fresh fruit, not the dried crap they eat all the time.

A hundred times a day MacCready’s filled with longing for the life he and Lucy shared. A life as a farmer should have bored the shit of him, but it didn’t. It’s a life he sometimes wonders if he might be able to get back someday.

Maybe they find Shaun, maybe MacCready goes down to his old homestead and brings Duncan up to Sanctuary and he and Anura can cobble together a strange little family of their very own. One where the boys grow up as brothers and have a super mutant and a synth as uncles.

Could be a nice little life. But the fucking realist in him knows better than anyone else that no one is owed tomorrow.

“Special occasion, huh? Not many of those at the moment,” Anura says with a sigh.

MacCready wraps his other arm around her as Anura leans back, giving him the chance to rest his head on her shoulder. “You know, I could say something cheesy right now, how every day with you is special, etcetera, etcetera.”

“But you know better than that.”

“But I know better than that,” MacCready agrees, raising his head up for kiss. Even so, as their lips met, it doesn’t mean he didn’t think it.


	2. Shaving, Smiles, and Shotgun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set about a week after Anura hires MacCready

He should have asked for more caps.

So many fucking question. It’s like the boss expects him to know everything that’s happened in the world since the war. And not just that, it’s the little day to day shit she’s clueless about. The sooner he forgets their conversation about digging a hole to shit in, and making sure to _cover it up afterward,_ the better.

At the same time, he’s making some decent caps. The boss wants to scour everything, looking for every last cap and mats. Between the two of them, they can barely carry all the junk she picks up. While his back might be sore, the beautiful sound of caps clanking together make things much more bearable.

The sun is just about to rise, meaning it’s time to wake the boss up and start their day. Lucky them, surviving another night in the Commonwealth. At least the sunrise is nice to look at. And if he’s being honest, so is the little park where they camped for the night. The cabin even had a bed with a decent mattress. Sure, the place smelled like ferals, but you can’t win ‘em all.

“Get up, Boss,” MacCready says, rolling his shoulders. He’s been sitting in this chair for five hours now and he’s ready to get moving. A small nearby stream will give him a chance to shave, and more importantly, give him privacy to rub one out.

She mumbles something, but sits up. Her hair is all over the place, yet he knows when he comes back from, ahem, _shaving_ , that it will be prim and proper and pinned back neatly. Doesn’t make any sense to him, having it long. Once Duncan was born, one of the first things Lucy did was chop her hair off. Little guy always grabbed at it. Boss is a mother, he would have thought she’d do the same. But fuck it. Not his business.

MacCready stands up and grabs his small toiletries bag, which only holds the essentials: a toothbrush, toothpaste when he can find some, and his razor. “Going to shave,” he says. And because even after only a week, he knows exactly what she’s going to say, he adds, “You miss coffee, you poor coffee-less person you. May one day you recover from this tragedy.”

She flops back down on the mattress. “Fuck you.”

“Now, now, you only said that because you haven’t had any coffee,” MacCready says with a smirk. She talks about the shit enough that he’s curious what it tastes like. He’s had plenty of chances to buy some, but no way is he spending his hard-earned caps on anything to drink that doesn’t have alcohol.

He can hear her start to move as he closes the door behind him, his fingers curled around the pipe pistol at his hip. No point bringing his sniper rifle with him. Once he makes it to the stream, MacCready efficiently checks the area around him, making sure no fucking ferals are hiding. Last thing he needs is to be attacked with his hand down his pants.

It takes him almost no time to shave, using the stream as a mirror. And taking a deep breath, he leans against a sturdy tree, his feet planted firmly on the ground. This is the moment he hates the most, the moment right before he starts to jerk off. What the fuck should he think about? Lucy’s off limits, and he’s never actually trusted anyone else enough to put down his caps and his gun long enough to have sex since she died.

He goes back to his old standby, a dirty magazine from before the war that was a rite of passage back in Little Lamplight, passed from thirteen year old to thirteen year old. He doesn’t even want to think how many kids probably jerked off over that magazine throughout the years. Everyone had a favorite gal. His was a blonde wearing some sort of lace getup, he didn’t get all the ribbons or bows, but it wasn’t her underwear, or her suggestive pose he liked.

It was the soft smile on her lips. MacCready’s a sucker for a nice smile. Men, women, he didn’t care. Thinking about that chick in the magazine, he takes a deep breath before spitting in the palm of his hand. He’s already got a semi, simply because his body knows what he plans to do. A few minutes later, he comes with a shudder, spilling his jizz on the grass. While catching his breath, he kicks some leaves over the mess, hoping the rain he feels in the air will wash it away.

Like he knew she would, Boss has her hair up when he walks back through the cabin door. “Question for you, MacCready,” she says. She’s looking out the window and he follows her gaze to the stream. _Shit_. He has a moment of panic, when he wonders if she saw him, before remembering he stood behind a tree.

“What’d ya need?” he asks, sitting back down on the chair and picking up his sniper rifle, wanting to do a check before they had out for the day.

“Do you take a Rad-X before you shave?”

“Nah,” he says, with a shake of his head. “I’m not using much water when I do, so it’s not worth it.” One thing he’s learned about the boss is she doesn’t ask unnecessary questions. She may ask a shit ton of them, but she wants something from each one. “Why?”

She’s sitting on the bed, legs crossed at the knee. But then she pulls up the leg of her denim jeans, showing a fair amount of her calf. “I’m thinking of shaving my legs,” she says.

Okay. MacCready’s got to admit, he didn’t expect that. He looks at her leg again. It’s a perfectly normal leg. The hair is a little lighter than the hair on her head, but he can’t think of a goddamn reason why she would want to shave it off. “Why in the world would you do that? Waste of water, if you ask me.”

She puts her hand over her mouth, and for a moment, MacCready can’t tell if he’s royally pissed her off or what. Then he realizes she’s laughing. The boss starts laughing so hard there are practically tears in her eyes. And because it’s been too damn long since he’s laughed himself, he starts laughing, too, even though he doesn’t have a fucking clue why they’re laughing. But _damn_ does it feel good.

“Two hundred years, MacCready. Two hundred years later and I’m still trying to maintain gender-based beauty standards,” she says, pressing a hand into her side. She’s wheezing slightly after laughing so hard, and he tucks away the image of her smiling for later.

Moment’s over, and MacCready’s caught his breath, so he goes back to his rifle while she cleans up the remnants of their stay. She turns to him, hand on her hip and says, “So women don’t shave their legs? Really? What about their armpits?”

“How am I suddenly the expert on women’s hygiene?” MacCready asks with a snort. He thinks back to Lucy. She never shaved anything. She never even thought to. “So women in your time actually brought a razor to their legs? _Why?_ ”

She shrugs. “It was expected. Like getting your weekly manicure or ironing your clothes.”

“Dumb expectations,” MacCready says. He thinks back to that dirty magazine from Little Lamplight and realizes that all of the women had shaved legs. Weird.

“Maybe I won’t waste the water,” she says softly. Her chin is raised slightly, like she’s trying to ward off any hurt. She does that, he thinks. She’s trying so hard to find a place in this new world that she’s willing to let go off any and all ties she had to the old one.

“You know what I think, Boss?” he asks. She looks at him, then, eyebrows raised. “I think you should do whatever the f- heck you want to do. They’re your legs. Shave ‘em, don’t shave ‘em. Shave one. I’ll even loan you my razor.”

She picks up her pack and throws it over her shoulders. “I’ll think about it.”

“She’ll think about it,” MacCready mutters. “They’re just _legs._ _”_

Instead of answering, the boss walks out of the cabin. MacCready does one last check of the room and follows her outside. It’s cloudy, but not too cold. She’s standing in front of the small pond, arms crossed over her chest, looking like she owns the damn place. He takes a look around and wonders why no settlers ever claimed the area. There’s water, some defenses from the forest. Someone could set themselves up with a nice little home.

“There’s an archery range on the other side of that cabin,” she says quietly. “Think we could work on those pointers you gave me before we head out?”

“Sure,” MacCready says with a shrug. While she might be ‘the boss,’ she’s a horrible shot. And if she’s going to survive the Commonwealth that needs to change. Quickly. Luckily, teaching people how to shoot straight is something he knows how to do. One of his favorite things to do in Little Lamplight was to teach his kids how to handle a gun.

He follows her to the range and watches her settle into a stance. MacCready will give credit where it’s due. She’s a thousand times better than the day she met. But he’s still not sure how she made it to Goodneighbor alive, with only a Mr. Handy for company.

While her stance might be better, her aim is not. He bites his lip, trying not to berate her, knowing that’s the worst thing he could do. It’s just they’re using real ammo cause they don’t have any other choice and that shit isn’t cheap.

“This isn’t working,” she says finally.

He can hear the defeat in her voice and he doesn’t like it. This is life or death. “It’s just a matter of practicing. I’m dumb as a box of rocks, but I learned how to shoot. Self-taught, too. If I can, you can,” MacCready says, taking his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, hoping the cig will keep him from grinding his teeth at every lost bullet.

She gives him this look, like she doesn’t understand, but he ignores it and puts the cigarette in his mouth. He’s getting low. Hopefully they’ll find a few packs soon. “No, you’re not.”

MacCready rolls his eyes and lights up. The moment he does, he feels better. Maybe he won’t bite the head off of the boss, after all. “I’m not, what?”

“Dumb,” she says, holstering her rifle before crossing her arms over her chest. She’s standing straight up now and MacCready needs to tilt his head up to meet her gaze. “You made a pun about Thoreau yesterday. Dumb people don’t do that.”

“So I like to read. Big fu-freaking deal,” he says, taking another drag. He has to admit, he’s still pretty damn proud of that pun. He’s just glad she got the joke. Would have been a waste if she hadn’t. The smoke goes right into her face, but she doesn’t even seem to notice. “Cheaper than buying Jet.”

She lets out a bitter laugh. “Damn straight it is.” She looks at the target. “I just… I hate staying back. When the fight begins, I want to just run in there and shoot.”

That’s certainly a feeling MacCready’s never had in his life. He prefers the types of fight where he has the high ground and puts a bullet in someone’s brain before they ever realize he’s there. That’s not an option with the boss. She’s loud, even when she’s trying to sneak around, and her fight or flight instinct is definitely fucked up, because anytime she hears a gunshot when they’re walking, she runs towards it instead of turning in the opposite direction.

And that’s when MacCready has an idea.

He drops the bag that holds their extra weapons and takes out a shotgun she planned on scrapping when they made it back to wherever her settlement is. Worst weapon in the world, in his humble opinion, but for the boss? It might just work. “This is a shotgun,” he says, showing her weapon. “You want to get in the middle of a fight? You’ve been using the wrong weapon.”

Her face lights up like it’s Christmas morning as he puts the weapon in her hand and shows her how to load and reload the gun. And when she goes up to a tree stump and destroys half of it with one shot, she looks back at him, a wide smile on her face, and says, “I think I’m going to like this.”

MacCready nods and picks up the bag while she lets out another shot. She looks back at him again, and the pride on her face reminds him of Duncan, when he finally learned to walk without help. He should be happy, no, he should be fucking _thrilled_. If she found a weapon that’s more comfortable, one she can actually use well, the chances of them living through fight after fight has gone up considerably.

Instead, he tries to ignore the pit growing in his stomach as he looks at the boss’s smile. She has a really nice fucking smile. That’s the last fucking thing he needs. If her smile costs him any caps, he’s gonna be _pissed._

“Come on,” he says, jerking his head towards the open road. “Let’s go find a place to play with your new toy.”


	3. Things you said under the Stars

“Boss, wake up.”

Anura’s up in a heartbeat. Long gone are the days of leisurely waking up in the mornings with liberal use of the snooze button. Her hand automatically reaches for her shotgun at the intensity of Bobby’s voice.

“What we got?” she asks, keeping her voice low.

They took a chance tonight, setting up camp below an underpass instead of taking the extra time to make it to Grey Gardens. But they had a nasty fight with a pack of ghouls earlier in the evening, and they were both exhausted. Even so, Bobby insisted on taking first watch.

“Bunch of fu-freaking raiders,” he whispers. “They’re drunk.”

His hand is on the back of her neck, while the other clutches his sniper rifle. “Here’s how we’ll play this. I’m gonna take a pot shot. Hopefully that will scare ‘em off. If not…”

“We’ll have a fight on our hands,” Anura says, putting her hand on his knee to steady herself.

“Got it in one,” Bobby says. “Looks like a half dozen. I’ll take out what I can, the rest will be up to you.”

Anura nods, thinking how a year and a half ago this would have terrified her. She’d run into a fight, nervous and scared and almost ready to close her eyes at the sight of blood. Now, she’s more pissed than anything else. The Commonwealth is her _home._

“Sounds good,” she says.

They stand up at the same time, and Bobby pulls her down for a kiss, hard and opened mouth. “Don’t be stupid out there,” he says, slapping her ass. It’s a familiar ritual that’s now become the start of every fight.

Anura nods and puts on her armored chestpiece and a helmet while Bobby climbs up some rickety scaffolding. It’s a beautiful night for once. Shame it has to end in bloodshed.

She finds a vantage point to watch the raiders and waits for Bobby’s shot. Of course, because the raiders are idiots, they start running towards the gunfire instead of the opposite direction.

And three of them are dead before they even make it to Anura. She waits in the darkness of the underpass for them to come to her. When the remaining three cross her path, Anura shots one of them right in the chest.

Two left.

The raiders turn, one with a knife, the other with a pipe pistol. Knives always worry her more than guns for some reason, so she concentrates on the knife. Already she can hear Bobby climbing down from the scaffolding and she’s glad to have some backup.

The knifer lunges and the blade gashes her thigh. “Fuck,” she yells in pain. Anura takes a shot, but her aim is off and she hits the wrong shoulder, while a bullet from the pipe pistol harmlessly bounces off her chestpiece.

Her next shot is true and blows of the knifer’s head. A year ago that would be enough to make her lose her supper. She’s been desensitised enough that she doesn’t even blink and quite frankly more concerned about the trickle of blood down her thigh.

Anura hears another shot ring out and the pipe pistoler falls to the ground. “Oh, thank god,” she says, limping towards a brown patch of grass. As she sits down, she calls out to Bobby, “Grab me a stimpack.”

It’s still too dark to see much, but she hears the shuffle of Bobby’s feet. “You dying on me?” he calls out. The words are light, but she can hear an underlying worry in his voice.

“Not today,” Anura says, laying back down on the grass. It’s a clear night tonight, no rad clouds blocking out the stars. Sometimes on nights like this, she can almost imagine it’s 200 years ago, before the bombs fell.

“Good,” Bobby says as he sits down next to her, putting her leg in his lap. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

She watches him work and a wave of affection washes over her. “Bobby?” she says quietly, suddenly nervous. She’s said these words before, but only when accompanied by an orgasm. Never just out in the open. This feels very, very different. “I love you.”  

He blinks quickly and ties off the bandage on her thigh. “Yeah?” he asks. For a moment, Anura worries, and wonders if she’s scared him off, but then she notices the pleased little smile on his face. “Well, I love you, too.”

And because it’s the Commonwealth, they hear a branch snap and the moment is over. “Come on,” Bobby says, helping Anura up off the ground. She sees he already brought their packs over. “Let’s head to Grey Gardens.”


End file.
